


We Need to Talk About Joffrey

by HarmonicFriction



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crimes & Criminals, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, Family Drama, First Kiss, Making Out, Modern Retelling, Psychological Drama, References to Drugs, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonicFriction/pseuds/HarmonicFriction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Baratheon (a successful businessman) and Ned Stark (an honest cop) have been friends forever.  Robert suggests that they set their kids up on a date.  He wants his son, the spoiled loner Joffrey, to become normal.  He assumes that shy Sansa will be the perfect first girlfriend for Joff.  The connection between the two teens begins explosively, and their bond threatens to not only tear their families apart... it also may cause mayhem in the city, especially when Ned uncovers Robert's wife, hotel heiress Cersei Lannister, is secretly governing the city's underground crime ring.  Drama ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Need to Talk About Joffrey

 

* * *

 

Setting: _a moderately-sized coastal town in the United States that is fiscally governed by the Lannister family, who own Lannister Hotels, a ritzy global chain. Patriarch Tywin Lannister has left the responsibilities to his daughter Cersei (a shrewd businesswoman) and stepson Jaime (a cop) while he enjoys his retirement in Costa Rica. Husband to the hotel heiress is Robert Baratheon, president of Baratheon Manufacturing. Unbeknownst to Robert, Jaime and Cersei have strong ties to the underground crime rings in the area, and the Lannisters control the drug-dealing and mobs while keeping the police force crooked and quiet.  The Starks, a frugal but equally wealthy family, are their allies on the north side of town. The Stark family is headed by Ned Stark, chief of police on the North side, and his wife ex-police detective Cat Stark. The families have been friends since Ned and Robert were boys and despite their social and moral differences, it seems their bond will never break. That is, until Ned uncovers the harsh truth about Lannister Hotels after his eldest daughter Sansa begins dating Robert’s deranged son Joffrey. . ._

* * *

_October 30, 2006._

_Part I._   
  


Joffrey Baratheon emerges from his second shower of the day, momentarily blinded by the thick steam that rises in the bathroom, fogging up the large three-way mirror and giving the black marble countertops a stony look.  He hits the fan and wraps the thick crimson towel tighter around his waist as he brushes his teeth and stares at his smoggy reflection, waiting for a clearer image of himself to materialize.  The steamy mirror finally lets up and allows a medium sized circle to clear in its center and he admires his reflection, happy to see the acne that had taken residence on his narrow jaw has almost cleared.  Mom had gone out immediately to the mall to purchase the most expensive medicine she could when he had thrown a fit over the state of his face last weekend, and she’d completely understood.  Dad, on the other hand, had declared him dramatic and told him to get over it. This caused a fight between his parents, as per usual.  Joffrey normally would have tried to appease his dad but he couldn’t stand to see his normally smooth, shaven skin look so uneven especially not this week, not when he has to go out with a girl.   

Of course, Sansa’s not really a special girl.  She’s the daughter of Dad’s best friend from childhood, Ned Stark.  Dad and Ned did everything together: sports, enlisting in the coast guard, volunteering as firefighters. Of course, that was before Ned became chief of police and Dad started up Baratheon Manufacturing.  They’re too busy to see each other as much, which suits Joffrey fine. Aside from being a pig, Ned is a boring, humorless voice of reason, and Joffrey doesn’t see what Dad gets out of him.  They used to push for the kids to get together, but Mom said Joffrey had no obligation to the Starks so Joffrey hasn’t seen Sansa since the last Christmas get-together two years ago.  All Joffrey remembers is her bright red hair and goofy grin. _Jesus, I hope she’s grown some tits at least,_ he thinks tragically. Already beginning to sulk, he starts his routine of applying various deodorants, hair products and cologne. 

Joffrey does not date much.  It isn’t that girls are not interested in him; they are drawn to his chin-length, perfectly styled blond locks and his straight teeth but they never last long.  He’s never too invested in romance. Joffrey likes girls well enough.  He’s not a faggot like his uncle Renly, he’d just rather be alone, surfing the Internet for shocksploitation films or videos of executions, or playing one of his many RPG video games. He’s taken out a few girls, sure, and has suffered through stilted conversations in order to end up in the backseat of his immaculate sports car or in the last row at the movies.  It‘s exciting at first to put his lips on theirs with his hands in their soft hair or inside their blouses. After a while though, it’s always the same thing.  His mind wanders, and while the girl is sighing out into his open mouth or planting soft kisses on his cheek, Joffrey can’t take his mind off the fact that it isn’t enough.

 He wishes dating was like the game he plays on the Internet, the one where there’s a beautiful, busty black-haired girl strung up in ropes and wearing lacy lingerie.  She’s suspended in midair and she whimpers periodically if the game sits idle.   Near her swinging feet is a toolbox filled with different weapons you can use to play with her.  There’s a whip, a mallet, a long, silver chain, and if you earn enough points you can unlock the electric chainsaw.  With cheats, you can remove her clothing so that she’s completely naked, hanging there with her frightened eyes wide, nipples perky and genitals shaved clean off.  _“No, no, no, please no,”_ she screams when you torture her. _“No, master. Please!”_   Joffrey likes the feeling of control, and the animation is pretty high quality, too.  Still, it would be better if it were real.

    He hasn’t been on a date in some time as he’s been keeping to himself at school this year.  Since he didn’t measure up for the football team, he’s been slightly down.  He knows Dad is disappointed in him.  After all, Dad was _Robert Baratheon, football star,_ but how does he expect Joffrey to live up to that?  Mom said she thought the coach was unfair; she says his old habit of lighting fires on the middle school playground shouldn’t have been held against him, but Joffrey doesn’t care about the reasoning. He’s set on proving himself to Dad, no matter what it takes.  And if Dad wants him to take Sansa Stark out, he’ll suck it up and do it. Joffrey’s therapist didn’t agree with the decision, but Dad did not care.

Joffrey was referred to counseling when his art teacher complained to the principal about his final project last year. She did not see the artistic value in cutting out models from magazine ads and inking in nooses around their necks, blacking out their eyes, and coloring their teeth splotchy red.  He’s been in therapy since mid-June.  Sometimes he meets with the doctor alone and other times he’s joined by his parents and siblings. Dad hates going, Mom gets too sensitive and Joffrey’s siblings are as embarrassingly babyish as ever. It’s a nightmare.  

In the last family session, they discussed whether Joffrey should pursue any type of romantic relationship.  Dad thinks this will be good for him because “normal” guys have girlfriends. However, Joffrey’s therapist is concerned about Joffrey’s ability to form “healthy, long-lasting relationships with women”.  Mom got irate about that and fought with the therapist for a good part of the hour, saying he had a perfectly good relationship to her and to leave him alone.  Joffrey’s therapist had asked his brother and sister how things had been at home lately.  Joffrey had pulled his hood over his bangs and had settled back in his chair, staring Tommen and Myrcella down, daring them to speak.  Of course, they didn’t.  They knew what would happen if they ever did.  

Getting ready to go out is soothing for Joffrey and he is feeling better by the time he has left the bathroom.  Even though he is not looking forward to tonight, he is obsessed with appearance. Looking good is his forte.  He likes when his mom irons his clothes, likes the smell of the clean linen and the feel of the soft tees, crisp dress shirts and low-slung black dress pants.  He has thirty pairs of the very best designer shoes in bright colors that he alternates daily to accompany each well-chosen outfit he lays out the night before.  He cares how he looks and having the newest clothing item brings him comfort.  He derives the same level of reassurance from arranging his horror movies into alphabetical order and by cleaning his collection of swords, wiping the dust off with a velvety rag until they luster on their display on his bedroom wall.  When Dad is not home, Joffrey unlocks his gun safe, admiring the shiny hunting weapons and cleaning them with tender care. _“These guns are always in perfect condition,”_ Dad often says, and Joffrey is pleased.

Tonight, he selects a red pair of cross-trainers from their crisp box in his walk-in closet to accompany his skinny jeans and button up shirt.  He sits gingerly on the end of his four-poster bed with the black comforter and matching pillows, surrounded by posters of smiling swimsuit girls, Eminem, D.M.X, and Nirvana.  He looks past his plasma television and throws a last look at the full-length mirror, smiling.  At least he will impress Sansa, even if he cares nothing for her.

“Oh, Joff, you look wonderful, baby,” Mom coos from the kitchen bar, poised with one slender leg over the other and holding a flute filled with red wine.  “Come here so I can see.”  He listens and approaches her, a small smile on his face.  She admires his outfit a bit more before patting his face approvingly. “It’s working,” she says, relieved. “You’re clearing up.  Good. Sansa’s going to melt when she sees you.  This is her first date, you know. Cat called me, badgering me about you to make sure you’re not a bad influence. That woman is the biggest bitch I’ve met—“

“You could probably give her a run for her money, Cersei,” Dad comments in a wry voice, entering the kitchen and leaning against the counter, surveying Joffrey with a skeptical expression.  Joffrey stands up a bit taller. 

Mom rolls her jade eyes to the ceiling and flings back her blonde curls. “At least I trust _my_ children. She doesn’t let poor Sansa have any fun, and you know it, Robert. Poor little dove.  She’s so shy, she can barely make eye contact. And you just _know_ Cat forced her into that all-girls school. This will be good for her.”

Dad shrugs like he is not so sure about that before pouring himself a large glass of wine and running his hand through his black beard. “Do you really have to wear girl’s pants, Joffrey?  Don’t you think having long hair is enough?”

“It’s the _style,_ Robert,” Mom snaps and Joffrey grits his teeth, bored of the same old arguments. They’re always either grilling each other with sarcasm or shouting. Joffrey has a faint memory of when they used to get along. But Mom says it was doomed from the start all because Dad wouldn’t give up on his first love, Ned’s sister Lyanna.  She died in a car wreck before Joffrey was ever born so he doesn’t know why Mom can’t just get over it.

Instead of getting involved, he looks to Mom and winces. “What if I hate Sansa?  What if she’s an idiot?”

“Then you never have to see her again,” answers Mom instantly, running her hand down Joffrey’s arm.

Dad looks at them with an irritated expression. “Don’t be a little asshole, Joff.  Please. That’s all I ask.”  Joffrey cringes.

“Robert!” Cersei snaps and puts an arm on Joffrey’s shoulder but he shrugs her off.  

“Sorry, but Sansa’s a good kid. I don’t want to catch hell from Ned if I hear you’ve been acting like a jerk wad in front of her. Don’t embarrass me.”

“I won’t!” Joffrey protests in a mewling voice.

“And remember to ask how Bran is doing—“

Mom looks up from her wine, flinging her curls back again.  “Is he still in critical condition?” 

Joffrey zones out for a moment, not caring to hear more details about Sansa’s little brother winding up in the hospital. He took a fall out of the third story window of the Starks’ home two months ago while Mom, Dad, and Uncle Jaime were over for Ned’s birthday celebration.  Uncle Jaime and Mom were upstairs and heard him fall, and it’s been all the town can talk about.  Joffrey’s tired of hearing his parents discussing it, especially annoyed that Dad seems more concerned about Bran’s predicament than Joffrey.   The kid is suffering from pretty severe injuries and might never wake up.  If he does, he’ll be a useless cripple for life. Joffrey doesn’t care one way or the other. He just hopes Sansa won’t be too emotional about it tonight.  He can’t stand when girls cry.

Dad changes the subject and so Joffrey tunes back in. “It would be nice if you two got along,” Dad goes on. “She needs some cheering up. And it would be good for you.”

“I agreed to one date,” mutters Joffrey icily, narrowing his eyes. “If she’s stupid, I’m driving her home early.  Oh yeah. I need cash.”

Dad lowers his wine glass to fish in his pants for his wallet. He hands Joffrey the money carefully, almost as though he thinks touching his son will burn him. “Fifty ought to cover dinner.  I want the change, if there’s any.” 

Joffrey is about to protest, but Mom beats him to it, sliding a manicured hand into her purse on the bar.  “Honestly,” she says, “he needs enough for gas, and maybe dessert or a movie.  Here’s another fifty-“

Joffrey grins and snatches the money from her at once.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Cersei?” asks Dad with a dry laugh. He lowers his voice as if Joffrey cannot hear him. “This is so typical of you. Remember what Doctor Varys told us—we can’t be showering him with money all the time—“

“It’s a _date,”_ Joffrey snaps. “And you’re the ones making me go!”

“Then I want to see receipts!” Dad says strongly. “I want to make sure that’s what you’re doing with it—“

“Oh, Robert, don’t be ridiculous.  Besides, Ned and Cat will ask Sansa where Joff took her.”  She smiles at Joffrey. “Don’t worry about giving your father proof. He’s being paranoid. Go somewhere nice.  Make it special for her. Show off a little.”

 _Oh, I’ll make it special,_ Joffrey thinks, deciding the extra cash will be great for getting booze.  Booze helps Joffrey’s nerves and it has other great qualities as well. _Maybe that’ll make the Stark bitch loosen up. Insti-slut. Just add liquor._  

“I’m going to send Ned a bill,” laughs Dad.

“Shut up, Robert,” Mom snaps before finishing her wine and pouring another glass.

“Mom! Dad!  We can’t find him!” comes a shriek from the stairway and Tommen comes running in, Myrcella on his heels.  They look solemn, causing Joffrey to smirk as he grabs his keys from the bar.  Likely, Tommen’s noticed his precious cat is missing.  For a bit of fun, Joffrey decided to put the stupid thing in the dryer and closed the door.  He wanted to turn the machine on but resisted, figuring he will when he gets back tonight if Tommen isn’t smart enough to find him. 

Dad’s tone of voice changes abruptly, kindness suddenly seeping in, making Joffrey’s stomach drop. “What’s wrong with you two? Who can’t you find?”

“Mister Whiskers,” Tommen says gravely, eyes flicking from Dad to Mom to Joffrey, who rolls his eyes.  “He’s been missing since this morning!”

“This is the third pet you’ve lost, Tommen!” Mom says angrily. “I’m beginning to think you can’t handle the responsibility—“

“But I haven’t done anything wrong!” Tommen asserts and Myrcella puts her arm around his shoulder. “I take good care of them and everything.”

“He doesn’t _mean_ to lose them, Mom,” she says, always the attempted peacemaker in the family.  Joffrey curls his lip at them.

Dad sighs. “I’ll help you make posters.  Let’s head to the study and then we can get them copied at my office.”

“Robert, this is the _third pet,_ ” Mom squawks. “Maybe Tommen should deal with this on his own!”

“He was fine this morning when I let him out! And he always comes back when I get home from school,” Tommen yelps and tears are welling in his eyes.  Joffrey fights the urge to laugh.  As Mom and Dad begin to argue again, Joffrey leans into Tommen’s ear.

 _“Check the basement,”_ he whispers, and revels in Tommen’s bewildered expression before turning to leave. “I’m out,” he says.

Dad tears his eyes off of Mom. “Drive safely. Get Sansa home at an early hour. And try not to say anything weird-“

Joffrey bristles. “I _won’t,_ okay?”

“Oh, Joff,” Mom begins, her voice tentative and soft as butter. “Did you remember to take your medication?”

“OH MY GOD! YES!” Joffrey shouts, grabbing the black hooded sweatshirt from the coat tree.  “HONESTLY!”

“I’m sorry, baby. I have to ask!”

“Get off my case, all right?”

 “Have a good time!”

Joffrey slams the door behind him, offhandedly fingering the outline of the six pills he’s been saving since yesterday.  They should make tonight palatable. Joffrey starts his car, turns on the Beastie Boys c.d. in his disk player, and dials Sandor.  After ten rings, there’s a click. “Sup, dog?” he greets.

Sandor answers.  He has one of those voices you can hear the cigarette smoke clinging to. “What is it?”

“Since when do you talk to me like that, dog?” Joffrey grins, turning out of the driveway and increasing speed. “Talk to me like _that,_ and I’ll tell Dad you’re my supplier.”

“Yeah, and then you’d be without booze and weed,” Sandor rasps. 

“Then _you’d_ be without a job,” Joffrey says sharply, ignoring a stop sign and roaring around the corner.  “You’re lucky you even got hired with your record. If I told my mom you offered me drugs she’d get you fired in ten seconds.”

“She might get me fired from the company but who else is she gonna score coke from who won’t blab to the press? Snow White isn’t going to let me off so easily.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“How about Madame Crack Whore? That suit you better, Joff?” Sandor wheezes.

“Shut up about my mom,” Joffrey responds.  

Sandor chuckles deeply. “Mama’s boy ‘til the end.”

“ _Don’t_ talk to me like that,” Joffrey says in a testy tone, leaning back in his seat and carelessly using one arm to slowly swing the driving wheel from side to side.

“Yes, your highness.”

Joffrey laughs. “That’s better. Look.  I need you to buy some booze for me tonight. I’ll meet you in front of the liquor store on Eighty-second Street, by the Winter Fell housing development.”

“Whatever you want, boss.”

Joffrey sneers. “See you in a bit.”   

. . .

Sandor is leaning stoically against the wall in front of the liquor store, and when he sees Joffrey’s red Miata pull up he glowers as Joffrey lowers the driver’s seat window.  He flashes Sandor a charming grin as he strolls to the car window.  “Yo dog.”

“What am I getting?” Sandor grunts, holding out his gnarled, tattooed hand.  He’s wearing an oversized beanie to house his chunky dreads, and his facial burns are completely exposed.  Joffrey isn’t sure what’s more pathetic: days like this when you can actually see the hideous deformity or the times when Sandor tries to comb his knotty long hair over the burns.  

“Vodka,” Joffrey says.

“What kind?”

“The kind that makes it so I’m not sober,” Joffrey says with a snort. “Keep the change.”

Sandor rolls his eyes. “Really a connoisseur, aren’t you?”  But he snatches the twenty out of Joffrey’s hands and lumbers off. Joffrey checks his watch.  He’s got a half an hour before he needs to pick up Sansa, which is enough time to get a bit of a buzz on. 

When Sandor returns, he looks both ways before handing off the brown paper bag.  “I need a ride,” he says.

“Not a chance in hell,” Joffrey jeers. He grabs three pills out of his pocket, unscrews the vodka bottle and knocks them back.  He makes a face and pulls the bottle out of the bag. “What the fuck is this?”

“The kind that will make it so you’re not sober,” says Sandor dully. “Come on, I know you have to drive back past the mall.  My car is still in the shop over there and I want to check on it. Those bastards haven’t called me back—“

“Nah,” Joffrey says, shaking his head and taking another swig of the vodka.  He cringes. “I have to pick this girl up for a date.”

Sandor raises his eyebrows. “Ned Stark’s girl?”

“How’d you know?” Joffrey asks, scanning the parking lot before emptying a good amount of vodka into the silver flask he keeps in his glove compartment.  

“Ned was over at your dad’s office last week and they were talking about it.”  He laughs deeply. “You really are a retard, Joffrey—“

“Fuck you,” Joffrey snarls. “What the hell do you mean?”

“You’re drinking in your car on the way to pick up Officer Stark’s goody goody daughter. You must have a death wish.”

Joffrey drums his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m not afraid of him.”  He pauses.  “How much of a goody goody is she?” he demands.

Sandor shakes his head. “Just give me a ride, Joff,” he says. “You can drop me off after you pick her up—“

“Your face is going to scare her so bad,” Joffrey says, but unlocks the passenger door. “I’ll blame you if she doesn’t get on my dick later.”

Sandor laughs again, wheezing slightly.   “I don’t think Sansa Stark even knows what a dick is.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joffrey mutters and peels out of the parking lot.

. . .

Joffrey pops two sticks of mint gum into his mouth and blares the horn as soon as they pull into the Starks’ driveway. 

“Classy,” comments Sandor. “You’re really winning points already.”

“Whatever,” Joffrey shrugs. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop being a dipshit, maybe?  Go inside. Pretend to be courteous. Promise to bring her home in one piece. Compliment her house—“

“Their house isn’t half as nice as mine,” Joffrey smirks.  “I guess you’re right, though. Move to the backseat. I want Sansa up front. Easier access, y’know.”  

“You’re a real Romeo,” Sandor comments in a cynical voice.

 Joffrey gets out and slams the door, surveying the toys strewn about the front lawn.  Mom would never stand for that.  She hired two gardeners to make sure their yard is always immaculate.  When Joffrey knocks on the door, there’s a cacophony of dogs barking coming from the gated backyard and the front door swings open. A little boy in a Tae Kwon Do uniform is standing there. Joffrey doesn’t remember this kid from the last time he saw the Starks.  It would be just like them to take in another stray.

“What do you want?” the kid snaps in a high voice, looking Joffrey up and down.   _Major attitude._

“I’m here for Sansa,” Joffrey says, adjusting his collar and staring past the kid.  The house wouldbe nice if it weren’t so messy.  There’s a large television blaring from a wall mount in the living room, and a staircase just behind the little boy. The walls are lined with school portraits.

“ _Oooh, riiight,”_ the little boy says. “You’re going on a _date._ Are you gonna kiss her?”

“Uh. What?”

The kid laughs. “With _tongue?”_

“Look, is she here?” Joffrey asks, quickly becoming irritated.

“JOFFREY AND SANSA SITTING IN A TREE! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Joffrey’s very close to backhanding this little shit across the face when he catches a glimpse of red hair from the staircase.  He looks her up and down, barely recognizing Sansa with her long, layered haircut and lipstick. She’s definitely grown up a lot in the past two years.  

“Get out of here!”  Sansa exclaims, rushing down the steps.  The kid bursts out laughing, running back inside the house as Sansa approaches the doorway.  Her face is slightly pink.  

“Sup?” Joffrey greets, giving her a small smile. He’s had just enough alcohol to be comfortable, plus he can feel the Paxil kicking in, and he surveys Sansa again. She’s wearing a very modest shirt and a skirt that hangs past her knees, not to mention extremely dorky knee socks, but he’s happy to see she’s got a very pretty face and nice enough breasts.

“Hey, Joffrey.  I haven’t seen you in a while. Th-thanks for coming to pick me up,” Sansa giggles and blushes harder. _Cute,_ Joffrey thinks.  “I’m sorry about Arya. She’s so rude, it’s totally embarrassing.”

“She?” Joffrey asks, confused. “Oh. _Arya._  Wait. I thought Arya was your little sister…” He trails off, realizing that _was_ the same little brat.  “She cut her hair or something?”

Sansa blushes even more, which Joffrey didn’t think was humanly possible. “Yeah, I keep telling her she looks like a boy but she doesn’t care.”

“Weird,” Joffrey says.  There’s an awkward pause.  Sansa doesn’t meet his eyes and she continues to giggle.  “Well. Uh. Want to get going?” he asks in a sharp way.

“Oh!” Sansa says, and her eyes finally snap upward. “I’m sorry!  I have to grab my purse and also, my parents want you to come in. I’m really sorry,” she repeats. “It’s totally obnoxious. You totally don’t even have to come in if you don’t want, I’ll just tell them—“

“Nah, it’s cool,” Joffrey says, though he rolls his eyes as soon as she turns around to guide him inside. His attitude improves as he checks out her backside and her long legs.  Maybe this night won’t be entirely hopeless after all. 

The Stark home is almost as big as the Baratheons’ but it’s lived in and messy.  Mom can’t believe how many kids they have and Joffrey has to side with her on this one.  Sansa’s older brothers Robb and Jon are playing video games and pay them no attention.  The Starks’ foster kid Theon is watching from behind the couch and gives Joffrey a nod.  Joffrey glares, stepping over toys and games as he follows Sansa into the dining room.  Ned and Catlin are cozied up together at the table, pouring over checkbooks and what look like bills.   

“Mom, Dad,” Sansa says, her voice high and eager. “We’re going.”

“Hello, Joffrey,” greets Cat in a voice that borders between cold and cordial. 

“Hi,” Joffrey says and allows his mouth to turn upward, remembering that these are not some random people—he doesn’t want them to tell his father he was rude. “How’s Bran doing?” he asks, trying to make his concern sound genuine.

Cat gives him a tired smile. “Thank you for asking.  He hasn’t shown any signs yet of recovery.  The doctors have said that after a month, some people lose hope. But I’m not going to. I believe he will get out of it. He’s strong.”  Her voice is rising slightly as if she doesn’t even believe herself. “We’re actually heading over there to visit him in a few minutes.” 

Joffrey wonders how much good can come from visiting someone in a coma, but he remembers Uncle Tyrion’s advice to think before he speaks.  Tyrion isn’t Joffrey’s favorite family member, but Sandor had told him when he’d complained there might be some merit in that suggestion.  So instead, he just smiles at the Starks and shrugs. “Sorry,” he says.

“Joffrey,” Ned says and gets to his feet. “You’re practically taller than me, now.  It’s been a long time—“

“It really has, sir,” Joffrey says, feigning politeness, and extends his hand for Ned to shake.  Sansa looks back and forth between them, looking hopeful.  “How have you been?”

“Busy. And exhausted,” Ned says with a chuckle, gesturing to the slew of papers.  “It’s been difficult working and worrying about Bran. But we’re confident he’ll be okay.”  He and Cat exchange sad looks.  _Get me out of here,_ Joffrey thinks and shuffles his feet. “How’s school been for you? 

Joffrey shrugs. “It’s okay.”  The truth is, school sucks. Joffrey’s not completely an outcast; he’d never be, what with his family’s slick status in town. Having a semi-famous mother from a prominent local family _and_ a successful father is a winning combination, so Joffrey’s often sucked up to by teachers and respected by students.  He doesn’t let too many people get close and school’s often an awful pit of noise, mess and disturbance to Joffrey’s mental stability.  Bluntly stated, other people piss him off.  Other kids generally know to avoid him now, yet some still call him a “weirdo” or “freak.”  Some have even outwardly mocked his temper, called him a “big baby.”  That’s why Joffrey keeps a list in his binder of the wrongs he’s suffered.  He’ll be prepared.  If he’s ever in power, he will strike back at those who’ve disrespected him.

“Still interested in natural science?  It wasn’t really my strong suit in school but Robert says you’ve got the stomach for it. I remember we had to dissect rats once,” Ned says.  Sansa squeals and Cat cringes, looking back to the bills on the table. “Not for me.”

“Yeah, I like it! I’ve dissected rats, too.  It was pretty interesting,” Joffrey says. “Also cow eyes, sheep brains, frogs.  I asked the teacher if we’d ever get to try anything bigger. I really like taking animals apart, seeing what’s inside them.  I wouldn’t mind working in a crime lab. Y’know, like taking apart corpses and seein’ how they died and sh-“ Joffrey catches himself but Cat gives him a Look all the same. “Stuff, I mean. Uncle Jaime says I could do it, if I keep getting good grades.”

Cat makes eye contact with Ned, who nods as if he doesn’t know how to respond.  “I suppose there’s something for everyone. So, you’re going to be driving?” There’s a definite _Dad_ tone to Ned’s voice now.

“Yes, sir,” Joffrey smiles thinly. “And don’t worry. I’ve got insurance and a current I.D. and everything like that.  She’s in good hands.”  He glances at Sansa who giggles and blushes. Again.  _Oh Jesus,_ Joffrey thinks, though it is kind of endearing.

“Be back by eleven,” Ned says.  “No later.”  He reaches over to give Sansa a hug but she pulls away.

“Ugh, Dad, seriously?  See you later.  Say hi to Bran for me,” she says.  _Like the little fuck can even hear you._  Joffrey leads the way out, only slightly aware of the shrewd look Cat is giving him.  His vision is getting the tiniest bit hazy and he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching into a looser smile.  

“Sansa!” Cat barks. “Be sure to grab a sweater on the way out. Winter is coming!”

Sansa sighs but does as she’s told, excusing herself to run back upstairs to her room.  Ned and Cat bid the kids a goodnight on their way out and Joffrey stands against the wall near Theon, trying not to make eyes with any of the Starks. They’re all a bunch of cocks, as far as Joffrey is concerned. Robb’s the golden boy at North High School, track star and favorite of teachers and students alike. Jon, Ned’s bastard son, isn’t popular but he found his niche in the art scene with all the creative freaks.  Theon’s just Robb’s tagalong, from what Dad’s said.

“Hey Joffrey,” Robb says in a low voice, barely audible above the sounds of Mario Kart.  “I know about you. All right?”

Joffrey slowly turns to face him, heart rate increasing just a bit. For a second, he wonders if Robb knows he’s been using but he chocks that up to paranoia.  The Starks are good kids, law-abiding and God-fearing. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asks in an equally low voice.  His blood boils when Robb doesn’t even have the courtesy to take his eyes off the large television on the wall.

“It means I don’t care if our dads are best friends. I’ve heard about you from the guys at South. My sister might be a total head case but she’s _my little sister._ Okay?”

Joffrey squints at the guys on the couch.  “I still don’t know what the hell you’re saying, Stark.”

Robb finally tears his eyes off Mario.  “I’m _saying_ if you do anything creepy, I won’t sit back and let it happen.”  Jon nudges Robb but Robb keeps eye contact with Joffrey.

“You want to fight me, bro?” Joffrey asks, forcing a grin. “Let’s do it. Let’s do it right now, huh?”

Robb tosses the controller down. “You got it, Joffrey.” 

Theon cracks his knuckles. “I got your back, Robb—“

“This is stupid, guys,” Jon mutters. “Dad wouldn’t like it—“

“Shut up, Jon,” Robb says.

Joffrey swallows, subconsciously fingering the back pocket of his jeans. “Come at me, Stark,” he says.

Robb stands up.  He’s got to be about a foot taller than Joffrey, with a solid jaw and a dark look in his eyes that does not suggest amusement.  But he probably doesn’t fight dirty, Joffrey decides, so there’s still a chance. His mind is spinning, preparing for fight or flight.  

At that moment, Sansa rushes back downstairs.  “Okay, I’m ready!” she says excitedly, sporting a navy blue coat that matches her sweater.

Robb looks at him, cocking his eyebrow. “Your move.”

Joffrey laughs, louder than he intends to. “I was just kidding, bro,” he says. “Calm down.”  With that, he follows Sansa out as fast as he can.

“Remember what I said, Baratheon!” Robb shouts.

As soon as they’re outside, Sansa looks at Joffrey with a fearful expression. “Oh, gosh, what did he say?  Something embarrassing? They’re always teasing me—“

“Nah,” Joffrey says, taking a deep breath.  “Nothing like that.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “I can’t stand my family most of the time. Jon’s not bad but he’s only my half-brother. And Robb and Arya are always making fun of me. Mom and Dad are so strict, but I mean, it’s probably good for me anyway, because of school, and it’s not like I ever really stay out most nights. I’m usually at home, which gets boring, or at the hospital. I’ve been reading to Bran, or I go there and do my homework and—I’m sorry,” she bursts out as they pause in front of the Miata. “I’m rambling.  I do that sometimes.”

“I can see that,” Joffrey says, and he lets Sansa into the passenger’s door.

“What’s up?” questions Sandor from the back seat as soon as Joffrey gets in.

Sansa lets out a shriek. “Oh jeez!  I totally didn’t know anyone was back there!”

“This is my home dog, Sandor,” Joffrey says with a laugh. “I’m giving him a ride.”

“I’m not your _home dog,”_ Sandor says caustically. “That sounds fucking stupid, Joffrey. You’re white.”

“Yeah, but I’m gangsta.”

“Psh,” Sandor says, “you ain’t _gangsta.”_

“Sure I am. Sure I’m gangsta,” Joffrey whines.

“Uh _huh_. Anyway, I’m Sandor. Or just the Watch Dog. What’s up, Sansa.”

 “It’s nice to meet you.” When Sansa turns around, her hand outstretched to shake Sandor’s, she gasps.  Joffrey continues to laugh as he starts the car.  He sees people react this way all the time to Sandor’s burns and it never stops being funny.

“It’s cool.”  Sandor gives a dark chortle. “You don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to.”

“No- it’s- I didn’t.”  Sansa stops struggling for the right words and instead turns around, staring straight ahead with her hands folded in the center of her lap, creasing her navy skirt.  

Joffrey snickers and turns up the c.d., drumming his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. He feels his mood improving, his eyes glazing over slightly.  He speeds through a stop sign and Sansa lets out a scream as a Ford truck hits its brakes. It screeches to a halt right by where Joffrey’s car was seconds ago.  “Don’t worry,” he says offhandedly, looking over at Sansa to gauge her reaction.  Her blue eyes are wide and she’s gripping the seat.  “Honestly, I do that all the time.”   He turns up the music to full blast and Sandor moans, leaning back and shaking his head.

When they reach the auto shop by the mall, Joffrey swerves around the corner and narrowly avoids a fire hydrant.  The car bounces onto the curb and Sansa covers her eyes with a gasp.  Joffrey cackles, and the brakes squeal to a halt.

“Damn it, Joffrey!” Sandor shouts, making Sansa jump.  “You’re scaring the shit out of her.”

“I’m fine!” Sansa puts in, her voice wavering as she slowly removes her hands from her face.

“See? She’s okay!” Joffrey declares. “Why would I have a car like this if I can’t go fast? Backseat goddamn driver. See if I give you a lift ever again.”

Sandor scowls. “Thanks for nothing. Look. She’s terrified.”

Sansa lets out a nervous giggle as Joffrey watches her. “I’m okay!” she insists. “Really, I’m fine!”

“I wouldn’t crash, babe,” Joffrey remarks, his eyes traveling from Sansa’s expression down to her chest.  “I promise.”

“Promise me you won’t stare at her tits like that while you’re driving,” Sandor says dryly and Sansa looks to Joffrey, who immediately averts his eyes.

“Christ, Sandor! You pervert. I wasn’t looking at her—her _chest,_ ” Joffrey says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Don’t be so disrespectful. You need to leave. Now.”  

“Right, Joffrey. My apologies,” Sandor snaps. “Have a great night.”  He slams the car door and ambles toward the auto shop, pulling up his sagging faded jeans.

Joffrey lets out a sad sigh and shakes his head for good measure.  “I’m really sorry about him,” he says. “He’s not very classy. At all. Dad hired him ‘cause he believes in second chances and all that.  He works security at the company and he’s a real good watchdog over there but he’s kind of rough, obviously. He doesn’t know how to talk around girls, especially not girls like you.”

“Girls like me?” Sansa asks quietly, her face still a bit pink.  Joffrey notices she’s got her arms folded over her front.

“Yeah. Real girls. Ladies,” says Joffrey softly and smiles at her.  Sansa meets his eyes and smiles back, and finally relaxes.  “So, what do you like to eat?”

“I’ll go wherever you want to go,” Sansa says and so Joffrey drives them to the steakhouse down the road.  When they leave the car, Sansa fingers the hem of her skirt. “Am I dressed up enough?  I guess I didn’t think you’d take me somewhere like this-“

Joffrey’s eyes linger on the buttoned up collar, the length of the skirt, and he shrugs.  “Is this your school uniform?”

Sansa averts her eyes. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I had another outfit, but Mom said it was too _mature._ I never get to go out, and she makes me dress like _this.”_  She’s blushing again and Joffrey actually feels a bit sorry for her this time.

“Well, you look good in it, anyway,” he says. “Though I gotta say, I’d like to see what the mature outfit was.”

She giggles and reddens as they walk side-by-side to the front door of the restaurant and Joffrey can’t help but visualize her in clothes like the girl from the computer game. Black lace lingerie.  _Please Master. Please,_ he imagines Sansa saying, thinks about tightening his hands around her neck, and he quickly tries to drive the image out of his head. He can remember it later when he’s alone.  By the time they are seated in the dimly lit dining area, Joffrey feels high.  As Sansa babbles about being on the student council and gives the tedious details of the recent argument she had with Arya, Joffrey stares at her with a slight smile on his thin face.  Sansa’s not bad, he decides.  She’s good-looking and he can tell she likes him.

“So how do you know Sandor?” she asks after the waitress has taken their orders and Joffrey breaks out of his stupor, eager to chat now.   
  
He laughs lightly, propping his head up with his hand. “Didn’t I tell you that already?” he asks, trying to focus on Sansa’s questions but instead getting lost staring at the pattern on the black  leather of the booth behind her head.  He can hear everything now, as if the sounds of the world are musical instruments in his brain: the clinking forks, the conversing couple at the table next to their booth, the sound system playing soft hits of the 90s. Combined with the hint of tipsiness he feels from the vodka, Joffrey feels at home.  As usual, it makes life easier to exist in.

“Well, you said he works for your dad but it seems like you know him pretty well,” Sansa says conversationally, putting her hands demurely in her lap and smiling at him.

“He’s a good friend,” Joffrey says.  “He doesn’t care about anything just like me and that’s why we get along.”  Of course, this is a slight alteration of the truth but Sansa doesn’t need to know this.  She doesn’t need to know about the days when Joffrey cares so much about everything he has horrific temper tantrums, or when he cares so much he slams his fist through walls and doors and then cries about the pain. She doesn’t need to know he’s threatened to murder his little brother and sister if he doesn’t get his way, or that he steals from his dad and blames it on his mom.  Right now, the statement seems true and that is all that matters to Joffrey.

“I don’t have many friends that are grown-ups,” Sansa says, her eyes wide.  She leans in, appearing interested. “How did you start hanging out?”

“Sandor and I are cool.”  Joffrey crosses one leg over the other and cracks his knuckles, glad to see Sansa is hanging onto his every word.  “At first, he was kinda a big brother to me.  I used to go to Dad’s office after school every day and we got to know each other. He made sure I didn’t get bored.  You know. That kind of thing.”  He leaves out the details about Sandor’s drug dealing, and doesn’t mention that he’s also Mom’s supplier. Joffrey knows Mom would be distraught if she ever caught him using, but he knows he wouldn’t get in trouble.  He can just throw her cocaine habit in her face.  

 “It’s sweet you two are friends,” Sansa says.  She looks thoughtful. “But he’s kind of scary. No offense.”

“Oh yeah, he gets that a lot. Obviously the burns are pretty disgusting,” Joffrey grins.  “Do you want to know how he got them?  It’s a good story.”

Sansa pauses in taking a sip from her water glass and pats her lips with her cloth napkin.  “Okay,” she says, sounding unsure.

Joffrey folds his hands in front of him and leans across the booth.  “He’s got an older brother.  In prison, they nicknamed him The Mountain. Know why?”

“Was he really tall?” Sansa guesses.

“Not just _really_ tall,” Joffrey says, “he’s a mammoth.  The guy is like six foot nine or something. I only saw him once and he towered over me. It was wack.”

“Wow,” Sansa says, raising her eyebrows.

“Right?  So, Sandor’s brother snapped when they were kids.  Just went insane.  Sandor told me he doesn’t know why but the Mountain told him to follow him out to the garage one day and he splashed acid in Sandor’s face.  Just out of nowhere.  Isn’t that crazy?” Joffrey asks with a laugh. “Sandor could have died—“

“What did he do?” Sansa whispers, sounding concerned.

“He pulled a knife on the Mountain and they both ended up in juvie. The Mountain kept threatening Sandor and shit and so Sandor freaked. He bashed him over the head with a chair like ten times.  That made the Mountain leave Sandor alone,” Joffrey says, proud of his friend.  “They both ended up in prison together later but the Mountain never fucked with him again. Sandor’s the one guy the Mountain won’t screw with.”

Sansa is playing with her napkin.  She looks slightly put off.  “Do you know a lot of people who’ve been in prison?” she asks. “It’s just… My dad… I don’t know if he’d like that…”

 _Ah,_ Joffrey thinks, _of course. Perfect Officer Stark. Oink oink._  “Nah,” he says. “And Sandor’s served his time. His sentence was bunk anyway, he didn’t even deserve it.  Don’t worry about him.  If he scares you, I won’t let him talk to you.  You’re safe with me, okay?”

She smiles and nods, seemingly satisfied. “My parents are really overprotective,” she says. “They’ve always been but since Bran… it’s gotten worse.”

 “My parents are chill,” Joffrey replies, lining the salt and pepper shakers and various steak sauces in a neat line. “They know I’m trustworthy.  I get to do what I want, when I want.  It’s pretty awesome.  I make my own rules. No curfew—“

“That’s cool!” Sansa says brightly. “I wish my family was like that, but they’re—“

“It’s not that my parents don’t care,” Joffrey interrupts, straightening the line of condiments.  “They’re busy but they are always checking up on me.  They just know I can handle myself.  Of course, I’m also older than you.”  Joffrey’s mouth is going faster than his mind can work.  He can’t say everything fast enough. “It must be a drag to have a cop as a dad. He’s probably always breathing down your neck. And your mom’s pretty hardcore, isn’t she?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Sansa says, “I love them.  They’re just—“

“Honestly,” Joffrey goes on, “I can’t believe he even let you out on this date.  Even though our dads are friends, I’d have thought he wouldn’t let you out of your cage this long.”  He snickers and flips his bangs out of his eyes.

Sansa smiles faintly and stares at her silverware.  “I was… I was going to ask if this was a date.”  She pauses for a moment, her cheeks turning pink. 

The waitress arrives with the food and there’s a pause that Joffrey uses to his advantage, watching Sansa squirm in her seat at his silence.  He does not answer for a moment, instead cutting into the rare slab of prime rib before him expertly with the steak knife. Bright red juice drips out of the meat. The waitress departs and Sansa watches him, her food untouched.

“Joffrey?” she asks tentatively.  “Is it a date?”

“Yeah, of course,” Joffrey says, flashing her a good-natured smile.

She smiles back, saying nothing, and picks at her plate of salmon salad.

He continues to stare at her, his gaze hardening a bit. “You _want_ it to be a date.  Don’t you?”

“Yes! I really do,” she says enthusiastically, and then turns bright red. “Oh my gosh, I sound like a total dork.  I’m sorry,” she moans. “It’s just, you’re really cool and this is my first date and I feel like I messed it up all ready.”

“How would you have messed it up?”  Joffrey asks.  His tone is cold.

Sansa squirms again.  “I don’t know,” she whispers.  “I just feel like I’m saying all the wrong things.  It’s been a weird year. Jon’s considering joining the army. Theon’s trying to reconnect with his birth father but Dad’s totally against the idea.  And Bran, of course.  I’ve been looking forward to tonight ever since Dad told me.  I just don’t want to scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” Joffrey asks, face softening, and he decides right then that Sansa’s better than the other girls who’ve shown interest in him.  She’s got the right demeanor and he really wouldn’t mind copping a feel later.  The room is zooming in and out.  He reaches his hand across the table and smiles at her. “Take it,” he urges and uncertainly, she does, her eyes wide pools of crystal.  “You’re not going to scare me.  You haven’t done anything wrong. Stop worrying.”

“Okay,” Sansa says, emitting a relieved laugh. “Cool.”

Joffrey lightly squeezes her fingers. “You’re _so_ cute,” he says in a low voice, and he’s proud when the flush he predicted would spring up appears upon her cheeks, spreading far and fast and deep pink.  

. . .

Dinner is a success.  They split a slice of triple chocolate cake afterward and Joffrey watches, slightly transfixed, as Sansa subconsciously runs her tongue around the tip of the spoon to catch the remaining bits of vanilla ice cream.  Joffrey talks freely, and Sansa is an agreeable, attractive audience for him. The Starks are even more religious than Joffrey knew. It’s always been a point of contention between Robert and Ned, their only big difference in values being Robert’s atheism.  Ned’s not as serious a Christian as Cat, but he’s still all bent up on being pious and faithful. _Love thy neighbor shit._  Therefore, Sansa talks as if she’s been living under a rock the past couple years. She doesn’t watch MTV and has not seen a single Tarantino film.  She hasn’t heard of Ludacris and she says Cat won’t allow her to listen to Eminem.  Joffrey promises to get her caught up the current trends. The conversation goes well now that Joffrey’s anxiety has melted like the ice cream left in the bowl between them.  She laughs at his jokes, smiles adoringly at him, and he can’t wait to get her to a more secluded location.

After he hands the waitress back the bill jacket and they are on their way to the car, Sansa bows her head.  “Thanks so much for dinner, Joffrey.  It was really, really nice.”  She pauses as though she’s unsure if she should go on and finally says, “I’m having a great time.”

“Me too,” Joffrey agrees, and he’s not lying as he has with other girls. After checking his watch, he looks back at Sansa. “You want to catch a movie?  We can roll out to the mall and see what’s playing.”  Of course, Joffrey already knows what they are going to see.  _Saw II_ is playing and he’s certain they can catch a showing.  He’s wanted to see it, plus they can sneak booze in and take some more of the edge off.  Sansa likely doesn’t drink, and he’s interested what liquor will make her do.

Sansa nods agreeably. “Yeah, I’d like that!  As long as we’re home a little before eleven, it’ll be fine.  I got all my homework done early, so I don’t have to worry about that!”

“Right,” says Joffrey, starting up the car. “I’ll get you home in time.  Don’t you worry about that.”

In the parking lot of the theatre, Sansa unfastens her belt and is preparing to get out when Joffrey excuses his reach, leans over her and opens the glove compartment.  “Not yet.”   He grabs the flask and takes a swig, making sure not to visibly cringe this time. “Here. Try this.”

Sansa eyes it nervously. “What’s that?” she asks cautiously.

“Just try it,” Joffrey replies. She takes the flask from him, and takes a slow, small sip.

“Gosh!” she exclaims, looking horrified. “What _is_ that stuff?  It burns!”

“Vodka,” he says and takes back the flask, knocking back another shot. “It’s better if you do it really fast.  Here, have another drink.”  The flask hovers between them, Sansa staring reproachfully at it.

“Oh! No, no…I… don’t think so,” she says in a hushed voice. “My parents don’t let me. My dad… He wouldn’t like it, he’s only ever let me try a tiny sip of wine, and only at Christmas.”

Joffrey snickers. “Well, your dad isn’t here right now. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“But  I—“

“Just don’t tell him,” says Joffrey, and his dark green eyes flash.  He holds the flask closer to her. “You’ve never been drunk so you don’t know how good it feels.  It’ll really make us have a good time.  And your parents will never know—“

“I don’t know, Joffrey.  I _want_ to, it’s just, I don’t want to get into trouble,” Sansa says.

“I won’t get you in trouble,” Joffrey replies but Sansa is looking out the window like she’s searching for something. He’s got to find a way to convince her, otherwise he knows that when it comes to getting a little action with Sansa Stark, all signs point to “no”.  He needs the vodka to be his wingman.  It’s worked before.  At the sophomore prom last spring, he spiked a girl’s drink and took her behind the stage. That night, he got to feel up tits for the first time.  When she confronted him the next day he pulled his blade out of the back pocket of his Hilfiger jeans and told her if she said anything to anybody, he’d slice her neck open. She was too freaked to do anything but it still made Joffrey a little paranoid.  He knew he had to be more careful if he wanted to get more out of the deal.    _Sansa’ll probably go for it if she thinks we’re going to go steady.  It’s going fine, so why not?  Dad will be pleased I have a girlfriend, I can fool around with her for a few weeks and hopefully drop my v-card—win-win for the Joff.  Girls like when you say drippy shit. It makes getting things from them easier._ This he knows from experience. “D’ya want to be my girlfriend?” he asks, his voice silky smooth. 

Just as he expects, Sansa’s eyes light up and she nods rapidly, causing Joffrey to grin. “Yes! I do, I really do, I mean, of course I want to take it slow but, oh my gosh, yes.  I’ve had a crush on you since we were younger and I can’t believe this is happening!”

“I want you to have a good time, Sansa.  Just try a bit more,” Joffrey says and fixes her with his most charming look. “My girlfriend can drink as much as she likes.”

Sansa lets out an excited laugh and seems to be deliberating with herself for a moment before she grabs the flask from Joffrey.  “Okay,” she says determinedly, and takes a bigger swallow.  She gives a little squeal of disgust.  “It’s awful!”

“It’ll be much better inside. I’ll dump it in a Slurpee and you won’t even taste it.”

“You’re going to take that into the movies?’ Sansa gasps.

“Yeah, why not?” Joffrey asks, grabbing his hooded sweatshirt from the backseat and zipping it over his dress shirt. “I told you. The Joff does as he likes.”

She watches him in awe as they walk toward the ticket booth, and Joffrey casually slips his hand through hers.  She beams and lightly squeezes his fingers.  _This night is turning out pretty fucking good,_ he thinks.  He orders two tickets for the new romantic comedy, knowing he surely can’t pass Sansa off for over sixteen, and after hitting up the concession stand he leads her toward the theatre showing the horror film.  

“This isn’t our movie,” Sansa says, and is turning to leave but Joffrey holds her hand tighter.

“Nah. This is right. Trust me, this will much better—“

“I don’t really like scary things.  No offense. But I’m a total baby. Arya can handle worse stuff than I can, it’s totally sad—“

Joffrey opens the door to the screening room and tilts his head. “Come on, Sansa.  It’ll be fun.”  When she stares blankly at him he shrugs and walks in by himself.  Seconds later, he hears her footsteps and smiles to himself.  _Got her,_ he thinks. The previews are playing loudly and the theatre is fairly empty.He leads them up to the back row and sits down in the farthest corner.  Sansa sits beside him, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap as Joffrey empties the flask into the large cup.

“What if we get caught?” she asks in his ear.

“I told you not to worry,” he whispers back and takes a drink.  He can still make out the cheap booze but it’s far more palatable. This time when Sansa takes a sip, she does not make a face and instead continues to hold the cup, jiggling her leg tensely.  Finally the movie starts and Joffrey can already tell it’s going to be better than the first.  Jigsaw isn’t his favorite horror movie killer, but he’s up there with the best of the master manipulators.  Joffrey likes _The Hills Have Eyes_ and _House of 1,000 Corpses_ best but you can’t beat a classic like _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre._ The best horror films have intense scenes of guts, gore, and of course, good-looking girls. 

When he looks over at Sansa again, her mouth is slack and her eyes wide.  As the first game is revealed, Sansa lets out a troubled groan and he watches her reaction, taking another long drink of the cherry-vodka concoction.  He’s entertained by her terrified face but the next time he turns to look at her, she’s got her eyes screwed shut.

“Ay,” Joffrey says into her ear, “you have to watch what happens. What good is it if you don’t?”

“It’s so gross,” Sansa shudders, eyes still closed.

“Have more of this and relax,” he requests, thrusting the drink at her and this time, she takes it at once.  Her eyes are once again peeled to the screen as she sucks through the straw and hands it back to Joffrey, who feels his movements getting clumsier.  At this point, he’s had to have had at least five shots. He hopes Sansa’s beginning to feel her buzz.  When it’s revealed that the man can be saved by using the knife to cut out his own eye, Sansa starts to make cries of terror.  Guys in the scattered audience chuckle, including Joffrey.  “This is _so_ sick,” he says approvingly, leaning his head against hers. “Bet he can’t do it. Bet he’s going to be a pussy about it.”

Just as he’s predicted, the guy can’t do it and the Venus Flytrap- like apparatus of spikes viciously embraces his face.  Joffrey cracks up laughing. Sansa screams and clings to Joffrey’s arm, her nails digging into his skin through his hooded sweatshirt.  “Damn!” he exclaims, surprised.

“I told you, I can’t—I’m sorry—it’s too scary—please, _please_ can we go?” Sansa asks, her voice a bit louder than before.

“Shut up!” yells someone from the front of the theater.

Joffrey shushes her and shakes her hands off him. “Grow up,” he says callously. “It’s just a movie.”

Sansa looks like she might say something else but instead she has more to drink, bringing her feet up underneath her on the seat. They watch in silence for another half hour until the soundtrack blares and Sansa shrieks again.  Joffrey slips his arm around her and squeezes her shoulder lightly with his fingers.  She hesitates for a moment before snuggling against him. “My lips are numb,” she whispers to Joffrey a few minutes later.  Her thick, sleek hair feels very soft on his face.  “And I feel…weird.  Do you think I’m drunk?”

He laughs, heartbeat quickening. “You’re not _drunk_ yet, Sansa.  But you’re probably a little tipsy. How does it feel?”

“Not bad,” she says. “Just… strange.” She giggles.  

“Finish this,” he orders her, and nudges the booze at her.  It’s still about halfway full, and Sansa eyes it.  She hesitates.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“Come on,” Joffrey says, nudging her again. “If you finish it, you’ll feel much better.  It’ll make the movie funnier, too.  Come on.  Do it.”

Sansa shrugs, apparently debating with herself, and finally seizes the large cup.  It takes her a few minutes but she finally returns it, empty, to the cup holder between them and Joffrey runs his fingers over her arm. Sansa leans back and smiles at him. “I do feel good,” she says, her voice a bit louder. “But I still _hate_ this movie. No offense.”

 “We don’t really have to watch it,” Joffrey murmurs and before she can say anything, he slowly tilts his head toward her.  Sansa looks up and her expression is innocent; her eyelashes are long and her lips are slightly open already, made redder from the cherry.  Joffrey brings one hand to the side of her face and pushes his lips against hers.  Sansa breathes quickly before returning the kiss, and her lips are soft and wet.  Joffrey groans into her mouth, kissing her deeper, his teeth pulling on her bottom lip very slightly.  They continue to kiss like this for a bit longer until Joffrey brings his lips to her ear, then her neck, and winds down to her exposed collarbone.  Sansa leans her head back and breathes heavily, her eyes fluttering shut.  There’s a scream of horror on screen.  Sansa stiffens up while Joffrey moves over her further, pressing against her and threading his hands through her hair. She exhales and puts her hands inside his sweatshirt, palms on his narrow chest.  

Sansa tastes like the vodka cherry slushy and she’s making soft panting sounds.  After they’ve been making out for a bit longer her runs his hand behind her back and drives his tongue between her open lips. She makes a noise of surprise but then runs her hands over his chest, grabbing onto the inside of his sweatshirt.

“Do you like doing this?” Joffrey mutters into her ear, his voice heavy.  The movie is loud enough that they can talk without anyone caring. The soundtrack blares, and screams erupt from the movie. She nods, bringing her hand to his hair and gazing at him. “And am I the first guy you’ve made out with?”

“Yeah,” Sansa says and giggles, closing her eyes.  Her teeth are very straight and white when she smiles, and her tongue curls through her teeth. “But you’ve probably been with other girls, right?”

“Yeah.  Lots,” Joffrey says at once, even though he’s really only gone on one official date and the other girls he’s messed around with weren’t really participating like Sansa is.  But if he doesn’t act like he knows what he’s doing, there’s even less of a chance he’ll get any.  Sandor said girls can smell a pathetic virgin from miles away, and that Joffrey’s scent is _Eau De Get This Dick._  

Sansa’s eyes flutter open and she purses her lips.  “Oh, yeah.  I figured,” she says, a bit dejectedly.  

“But, y’know, none of them were my girlfriends, not really. ‘Cuz I didn’t really like any of them. I’m having fun with you,” he says and when she kisses him again on the mouth, Joffrey knows he’s got her hooked.   _Sweet little Sansa Stark._  How he’d love to rub this in Robb Stark’s face. By Joffrey’s math, he figures it’ll take a few dinners, maybe a few bunches of flowers and a sappy card or two, and he’ll have Sansa Stark’s red-hot virgin pussy by December. Then he can decide whether he wants to keep her around or not. After all, Mom has said he shouldn’t feel like he owes anything to girls. She says a guy like him can have his pick, and Joffrey likes the idea of having options.

Whimpering cries blast out of the sound system and Joffrey’s eyes flick back to the movie. The hottest of the babes has her arms caught in some sort of contraption that has her stuck, and blood is beginning to flow out of her wrists as she struggles to get free.  Her sighs of relief at finding the antidote soon turn to squeals of surprise, then shrieks of absolute horror as she realizes she is not going to get out.  Sansa kisses Joffrey’s ear but he’s transfixed, mouth slightly ajar, watching the fear on the girl’s face hungrily.  One of the remaining guys comes up behind her and Joffrey’s skin prickles with excitement as the dude runs his hand across her neck, sweeping her hair back.   _Wring her neck,_ Joffrey thinks reflexively, and he ignores Sansa’s mouth on his skin. _Kiss her neck, bite it and then wring it._ But the guy walks away, leaving the hot girl to her demise.  Joffrey sighs, disappointed.  _What a waste. He could have at least bitten her. Bet she smelled like blood._ He adjusts his legs and finally gives Sansa another kiss.  

_. . ._

“That was horrible.  Completely horrible!” Sansa chatters animatedly, her arm draped behind Joffrey’s back as they exit the theatre.  “I never thought I’d see something that gross in my entire life—“

“Oh, that was nothing,” Joffrey declares, fingers in her hair.  He pauses to give her a kiss, slipping his tongue in again and holding her hand. The pill and alcohol combination makes physical contact easy and Joffrey’s glad for that.

There’s a loud sound of clapping, and a voice shouts out, “YEAH, _GET_ THAT FIRE CROTCH!”

Sansa pulls away from Joffrey at once, and he swings around to see who spoke.  It’s a gaggle of younger guys, all whooping and cheering, cheesy grins plastered on their tool faces. They look like they’re no older than thirteen.  Joffrey figures it wouldn’t win him any points to laugh, so instead he drops Sansa’s hand and glares at them.  “Watch your goddamn mouth,” he says. “She’s not a piece of ass.”

“ _Ooh,_ ” one of them says, grinning. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Joffrey takes a step forward, realizing he’s a bit unsteady on his feet.  He does not break eye contact.  “You want to stick around to find out?”

The guys all look worriedly.  “We were just joking!” the leader says. “Sorry—“

“Apologize to my girlfriend,” Joffrey snarls.

“S-sorry,” the guy says.

“ALL of you,” Joffrey orders. In a meek little chorus, all the guys mutter apologies and slink away.  

Sansa looks at Joffrey adoringly and puts her arms around him. “You protected me,” she says.

“Obviously,” Joffrey shrugs, and leads her to the car, a smile on his face.  _Thank God they were all little kids._

“And you called me your girlfriend.  Is it like… official?” Sansa asks, her voice high, and loud.  She’s definitely drunk, now, he notes. “Because… I’d really like that.  I think my dad and mom will say this is too fast but we’ve known each other all our lives—I mean, not _well,_ or anything, but—“

”Don’t worry about what they think,” Joffrey says and kisses her cheek.  “You’re my girl.”  They’ve reached the car and he opens it up for her, kissing her again before she gets inside. Sansa beams at him through the window when he gently closes the door.

“Are you sure it’s okay that you drive?” she asks when he puts the key in the ignition. “I don’t really think it’s a good idea.”

Joffrey laughs. “Don’t be stupid. I can handle my liquor—“

“My dad says—“

“He’s a cop, he has to say stuff like that to scare you out of having fun.”  Joffrey revs the car engine and turns on his music. “Don’t worry. My mom drives plastered _all_ the time.” 

She chatters to him incessantly as he drives and though Joffrey’s irritated with this, he’s glad she doesn’t make any more remarks about his driving.  He runs two red lights and skids around the corner of Winter Fell, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the Stark house. When he parks and turns to Sansa, she encases his jaw in her hands and puts her lips on his and Joffrey kisses her back. _This is going to be easier than I thought._

“When can we hang out again?” he says breathlessly when she breaks the kiss. He wishes he could do more but he’ll have to feign patience if he’s going to do this right.

“As soon as possible,” Sansa says at once while tracing his face with her finger. “This has been the perfect night.”  She laughs, throwing her hands up in the air. “I just can’t believe I tried vodka! _And_ that I got drunk… My parents would kill me!”

“Roll with me and you can get up to whatever you like,” Joffrey murmurs in her ear. 

Sansa shivers, smiling.   “I’d better get inside.”

“Let me walk you in,” Joffrey says. “You know? Make sure you get home safe and everything.”   _Maybe grab that ass._

Sansa smiles wider still and giggles, blushing.  He opens her door and kisses her hand before holding it, swinging their palms between them.  They walk hand-in-hand to the front steps and Sansa stands against him, her arms around his back.  “Thank you so, so much, Joffrey,” she whispers.

“Don’t mention it,” he says.  “Next time, we should get food and then go back to my house.  My mom’s cool with everything.  She’ll love you. I mean, she likes you fine already, but she’ll really love you, she thinks you’re cute. Which you are—“

“I want her to love me,” Sansa replies excitedly.  “Your mom is so beautiful! She’s awesome—“

“Yeah,” Joffrey nods, “she’s pretty alright.” He moans as Sansa inadvertently rubs against the front of his jeans where he’s hard. “I’ll be thinking about you, Sansa.”  He brings his lips to hers.

_Snak, snak, snak!_

“What’s that?” Joffrey asks, breaking the kiss and looking toward the gated backyard where there’s a strange smacking sound.  _Snak! Snak!_

Sansa shrugs. “I… don’t know.  Maybe my brothers are back there—“

“Let’s go check it out,” Joffrey says, heading toward the gate. 

“I should probably get inside—“

“Come on, let’s see what’s up back there,” Joffrey replies, and he’s eager to kiss Sansa in front of Robb, to show him who’s boss. He unlatches the gate, Sansa right by his side. They step into the yard, curving around the house.  The porch light is on and two kids are playing with plastic swords. It’s Arya and some tall red-haired kid with freckles.  Disappointed, Joffrey turns to Sansa.  “It’s just your little sister—“

“And the neighbor’s boy,” she says, and then walks closer to them. “Hey! Arya! It’s almost eleven! Why aren’t you in bed?”

Arya turns around and sticks out her tongue. “Oh hi, _Sansa._   How was your _date?”_

“None of your business,” Sansa says boldly, putting her hands on her hips.  “Get in bed! Mom and Dad—“

“They’re still at the hospital so Micah and I are just playing.  When they get home, I’ll go to bed.”  Arya turns back to Micah and they continue play fighting. _Snak, snak, snak,_ go the swords.  

“Oh hey, what the fuck kinda dog is that?” Joffrey asks, pointing to the gigantic animal on the porch.  It almost looks half wolf and it’s huge, the size of a German shepherd. The last time he was at the Starks’ house, he saw their dogs but none of them were _this_ huge.

“Watch your language!” Arya says rudely. “That’s Nymeria. We think she’s part pit bull and part timber wolf.”

“Dope,” says Joffrey.

“Go to bed now!” Sansa insists. “Just because they’re not here it doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want!”

Arya turns around with her mouth open in protest and Micah knocks her on the shoulder with the sword.  “ _OW!”_ she exclaims and smacks his sword with her own.

Micah laughs. “Think fast, Arya!”

Joffrey glares blearily at the boy. “You think it’s funny to hit girls?”

“Arya wants to be a boy, so it’s fine,” grins Micah, and Joffrey hates his stupid face, the boyish crew cut and chubby cheeks.

“That’s my girlfriend’s sister you just hit,” Joffrey says, crossing his arms.  He’s beginning to feel hazy and irritable, and he wonders if maybe he’s beginning to come down from the pills.  Sandor said it would only last a few hours, and that Joffrey would be stupid to use his meds for such a shitty high.  Going to bed is probably the best idea.

“Ooh,” Micah says. “Your _girlfriend!_ Sansa, you have a _boyfriend!_ I never thought you’d get a boyfriend! You smell funny! _”_

Sansa shakes her head. “You’re mature—“

“How dare you talk to her like that,” Joffrey snaps. “I’m going to teach you a lesson!”

“I’m scared,” laughs Micah.

 “You should be, little boy.” He walks toward Micah, narrowing his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

“Joffrey! He’s kidding,” Sansa says, but he ignores her.

“Who you are?  What does that mean?” Micah asks, fixing Joffrey with a sassy look.

“I’m Cersei Lannister’s son. She owns Lannister Hotels,” Joffrey says impressively, “ _and_ my dad runs Baratheon Manufacturing—“

“Uh.  Okay,” the kid says, laughing quietly.

Arya snorts. “Sansa, get your weird boyfriend out of here—“

“Hey, you little shit,” Joffrey snarls. “I’m defending you—“

Arya gasps.

“ _Joffrey,”_ Sansa says in a high voice and grabs his shoulder. He shakes her off.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Micah says. “We’re just joking around!”

Joffrey laughs darkly. “That’s what’s hilarious to me,” he says. “You think you’re tough?  You fucking punk.  I’ll show you tough.  How old are you anyway?  Fighting with a plastic sword like a fucking four year old?”

“Dude, I—I’m not doing anything,” Micah says, voice going a bit shrill, shrinking back.

“Want to see a real weapon?” Joffrey asks, his voice calm and pleasant.  He smiles. “Check this, fucker.”  He reaches in his back pocket and grabs out his switchblade. 

Micah’s eyes get wide as Joffrey approaches him. “Dude, you’re crazy!”

The word _crazy_ hits Joffrey like a slap across the face.  “Yeah, call me crazy one more fucking time!” Joffrey says, and he knows it’s on, right then.  He has to teach this kid some manners. Scare him a little. _Just a little._

“But you’re being crazy!” Micah says, his voice wavering, and Joffrey advances on him.

Sansa gasps. “Joffrey!  Oh my gosh, _Joffrey!”_

“What are you doing?” Arya shouts. “Stop!” 

Nymeria barks, getting to her feet.

“See this?” Joffrey asks, wearing that dreamy grin again.  “Check it out, kid.”  He whips the blade out and presses it to Micah’s neck.  Micah is rooted to the ground, whimpering.  “Want to see how it works?”  Joffrey asks in an elated voice.

“Please stop,” the kid whimpers, making Joffrey’s heartbeat thump in his chest.  _That sweet, sweet fear._

“See?” Joffrey whispers. “I’m going to teach you respect.”  He drags the blade slowly across Micah’s neck, just enough to draw a very thin line of blood atop the surface of the kid’s pasty skin. “Just a little cut,” Joffrey says with a smile.

Micah screws his eyes shut and squeals loudly like a little pig.  “STOP! PLEASE!” he pants.

Joffrey laughs, his head faintly spinning. “That’ll teach you to fuck with me—“

“HEY! QUIT THAT!” shrieks Arya and before Joffrey can do anything, he feels her smack him across the back with her phony sword.

“FUCK!” Joffrey yells. Arya strikes him again and he stumbles. Sansa screams.

Time seems to speed up. Joffrey spins around, feet unsteady.  He holds out his arms for balance and grabs Arya, one hand on her neck, blade poised by her face.  Arya bites his arm and Joffrey shouts in pain. Nymeria barks and growls, running to their sides, and Micah flees from the backyard, crying.  Sansa is pacing and screeching words Joffrey cannot comprehend. Arya ducks out of his grasp but Joffrey grabs her shirt in his hand and pulls her toward him.

“You stupid fucking bitch!” he spits, brandishing the blade to her neck.  His body is shaking with anger and his voice comes out in a yowl. “I’ll slice your eyes out of your skull and feed them to you!”

“NO!” Arya shouts and she smacks the knife out of Joffrey’s hand just as Nymeria dives onto Joffrey, throwing him to the grass and knocking the wind out of him.  Joffrey can’t breathe and his green eyes are wide open.  He is paralyzed by fear as the humongous dog growls deeply and latches onto his arm, tearing through his sweatshirt with her sharp fangs.  The pain is excruciating and she’s swinging his arm from side to side like a piece of meat.  Joffrey catches his breath and hollers, tears running down his face.

The girls are screaming in unison at Nymeria when Joffrey hears the porch door open.  

“Hey, hey! What the heck is happening out here?” shouts one of the brothers, and someone is grabbing Nymeria off Joffrey but he’s closing his eyes, the tears making them sting. His arm is in a searing amount of pain and when he finally can feel the dog’s jaws have left him, he looks to his cut and bleats at the large amount of blood sopping through his shirt. 

“I’m calling 911,” one of the guys cries out. “Sansa, stay with him for a second and I’ll call for help. _Damn it,_ Nymeria. Arya, your dog is crazy—“

“It wasn’t her fault, Jon!”

The voices carry into the house and Joffrey knows he’s alone with Sansa now. She is sobbing loudly and Joffrey wants to protest.  He doesn’t want her to see him like this, crying on the ground in crazy amounts of pain.  He wants her to think he’s tough, not some fucking baby.  He has Arya to blame for this! _That little cunt._ _She started it!_ He bites down, willing the tears in his eyes to go away.

“I’m fine,” he gasps as Sansa drops to his side and his face goes bright red. He struggles to move his arm but it’s all messed up. He wonders if that awful beast tore him to the bone, and he doesn’t want to look, he doesn’t want to pass out. Not in front of Sansa.

“My poor Joffrey,” she cries out, smoothing his hair. “I can’t believe she did that, I can’t believe Nymeria, she’s protective but not like that, not like—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Joffrey croaks. “You think I want to hear you running your mouth right now?”

Sansa’s eyes get bigger and she snivels. “ _Wh-what?”_

“You heard me.  Get the hell away from me and stay away. And don’t touch me!” Joffrey commands in a strong tone.

Sansa begins to sob louder and backs away as Joffrey moans, struggling to open up his sweatshirt to see the wound.  Blood is everywhere and Joffrey grits his teeth. “Motherfucker!”he snaps, and Sansa’s frightened face is the last thing he sees before his head rolls back on the grass and he passes out.


End file.
